Frank Discussions
by FFCoyoteX
Summary: Early on in the series, Frank meets Mark.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

I originally wrote these as independent short stories, then I decided to make it chapters in a longer story. If portions seem redundant, that is why. Not a lot of substance here. Just some fun with the guys.

Discrete reference to one of my favorite stories, _The Hole_ , as well as _Beautiful Noise_.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.

CHAPTER 1

Judge Milton C. Hardcastle looked out across the courtroom he presided over and noticed his attention had drifted. It wasn't the first time over the past few weeks that he had momentarily stopped paying attention. In fact, there had been several occurrences where he had chastised himself when he realized he had missed a sentence or two of testimony. He knew better. He was a judge, for Pete's sake, and he needed to hear every word. And yet on this instance of another mental journey he was not so quick to pull in the reins and redirect his thoughts. In less than two weeks it would come to an end. Retirement was looming and he was scared to death, scared that retirement meant death. He just wasn't ready for a rocker and crossword puzzles.

He dragged his mind back to the case at hand. A simple burglary, should be open and shut for the jury. The guy was caught in flagrante delicto. The cops had clear surveillance video and they grabbed him in the parking lot with the stolen goods. He was a two time looser with no alibi and no redeeming character traits to play on the emotions of the jury. Heck, the guy didn't even have any family or friends on his side of the gallery. Over the years Milt sometimes wondered what path led people to his court. What happened to his parents, siblings, and other family? Did he abandon them or maybe they were tired of his shenanigans and had cut him loose? At any rate these kids with sorted childhoods, no real career hopes and repeat offenders of the same infraction were a dime a dozen. Prisons had revolving doors for them and the best society could hope for was that they didn't hurt anyone when they were out. Milt didn't consider himself jaded; there were those who went to prison, learned their lesson and became productive members of society. But he knew there were far too many who would never break the cycle.

Milt believed in rehabilitation and had even taken a crack at helping a few parolees. He felt the right participant could learn to respect authority, the value of an honest day's work and could build self-esteem. If you could demonstrate a better way of life than maybe a guy could break the cycle and become a contributing member of society. In his younger years as a cop and then a lawyer he and his wife Nancy discussed being mentors and helping some of these people. They couldn't save the world but maybe they could make a difference with a few troubled young men. Nancy relished the idea but worried about how it would influence their son. They talked about it and agreed to wait until Tommy was off to school, then they would look into being foster parents or helping a young parolee. It was a plan they both believed in and a way for them to give back to the community which had given so much to them. It was something they looked forward to doing together in their empty-nest years.

Tommy deferred going to college in lieu of joining the military. Shortly after he shipped off to Vietnam, Milt and Nancy began looking into candidates for their project but then it all fell apart. Milt opened the door one sunny day to find two men in uniform: a captain and a Chaplin. He took it in instantly and his heart broke in two, all but ending his world. His hopes and dreams for his only child were obliterated. While still deep in their grief over the loss of their son, Nancy was diagnosed with cancer. She would pass away, with Milt at her side, less than three months later. In just under six months Milton C. Hardcastle went from a giant of a man, full of life and laughter, to a shell who shuffled through life with a constant scowl and steel eyes that had lost all sign of life. Losing Tommy shattered his dreams but losing Nancy shut him down for good. He was a changed man.

Milt withdrew into himself. With few exceptions he avoided social activities and stuck to an orderly routine of work, a monthly poker game and organizing his files. He took on a few rehabilitation projects working to help troubled young men turn their lives around. Bringing parolees to the estate alienated some of the few friends he had left but he didn't care; he wanted to follow through on the work he and Nancy believed in. Ex-cons would cycle into his life, spend some time and then move on to either productive lives or back to the big house. He took no joy from the successes and only slight disappointment from the failures. He gave them a chance, the rest was up to them and the results were on them, not him.

After the last debacle even his closest friends begged him to stop taking on these projects. JJ Beal had come close to killing him and others. It was only with extreme effort that he was returned to prison. But with retirement looming Milt was desperate to give it one more try. This time it would have a twist. He was not just looking to show a wayward soul the path to honest, orderly living, he wanted a partner who would help him chase down the criminals he had carefully accumulated in his files. He knew he was mentally sharp enough to track these guys down and he was physically fit even for a guy half his age. But he did not kid himself into thinking he could do it alone. He needed a backup, a guy to do the heavy lifting. Someone with youth and agility on his side and enough gumption to hold on if things got sticky. Most of all, he needed someone who could take orders unconditionally. He was not looking for a partner, he was looking for a subordinate.

As the prosecutor tediously questioned the officer to establish the elements of the crime, Milt thought back to the night when he showed Lt. Frank Harper, a longtime friend and one of the few people Hardcastle took into his confidences, the file on the young man he had targeted. Frank had come by the house for dinner prior to their monthly poker game. As they sat on the patio watching the steaks grill, Milt handed Frank a file.

"Take a look at this. I'd like your opinion." Hardcastle said.

Frank had a feeling he knew where this was going and it took everything he had not to shove it back at the jurist and refuse to participate. He held the file for a moment and looked at his friend. Milt wasn't making eye contact. His elbow was on the table and his chin rested in his hand. He had a far-off gaze and suddenly to Frank he appeared old, forlorn. Frank sighed.

"If you're going to make me look at a file of some kid you think you can turn around, I want another beer." Frank tried to lighten the mood.

Hardcastle reached over to the cooler and liberated two cold ones.

"I know what you're thinking." Milt was almost imploring. "But I think this is the one. I think I can make my retirement project work with him."

For months Frank had been hearing all about the 'retirement project'. He had done everything he could to dissuade Milt. Bad enough taking these guys in and hoping he could show them the error of their ways but trusting them to watch his back while he went after criminals was pure insanity. Or a death wish. Frank grimaced at that thought and shoved it aside. The argument was cold and stale and he was tired of being the one trying to crush Milt's dream.

Frank perused the file. He slowly turned the pages, examining each item trying to glean every ounce of information he could from the official statements, social worker reports and mug shots. The guy looked like bad news. He was orphaned at a young age, lived with an abusive uncle and then in the foster system where he repeatedly ran away, likely from more abuse. The kid had been living on the streets from about 15 on but he managed to finish high school with decent grades. He had been in juvie and had a couple GTA beefs as an adult. His childhood experiences, in all likelihood, spawned an adult who would be bitter, lacking empathy and only looking to help himself. To make matters worse there was no sign that he ever took responsibility for any of his convictions, always insisting on misunderstandings or miscarriage of the law. None of this made Frank think Mark McCormick was ripe for rehabilitation much less someone he would trust to help Milt on his crusade.

There was a small hand scratched note. Frank worked at deciphering Milt's writing and then with a shocked expression looked at Milt, "The guy was a bookie in the joint?"

Hardcastle gave a small shrug and waved it off. "I talked to the CO's. The kid was taking a few bets, all on the up and up. No collection enforcement and he never did business with the real bad guys. It was small time, friendly and he played it fair. No big deal."

It wasn't like Hardcase Hardcastle to turn a blind eye to _any_ illegal activity. Still, Frank knew if no one was getting hurt the guards would likely turn a blind eye and let the inmates have some fun. If the kid was offering good odds the CO's probably placed bets as well. It was risky business doing that from the inside. One wrong move could get you infractions from the CO's or brutally taken down by the inmates. Anyone who could walk that line in prison without getting busted, beat up or thrown in solitary had to have some guts and wile.

McCormick's prison record showed he joined the right groups, steered clear of the gangs and even managed to complete a couple of semester's worth of college credits. There was an unexplained ten-day stint in solitary followed by time in the infirmary. Perhaps he hadn't walked that line as finely as he thought. On the other hand, he had no indication of violent tendencies. Maybe the kid had some potential. Frank sighed heavily.

"I know," Milt drawled. "He's got some rough edges. But I am telling ya, this kid's got what it takes. I've had him in my court, saw him when he was in Quentin…"

"You what?" Frank couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You went to San Quentin to _visit_ a guy you convicted?"

"Well, yeah." Hardcastle replied sheepishly. "I wanted him to know he had some choices and he could get on the right path if he worked at it."

"And how'd that go over?"

Hardcastle chuckled. "Not well. The kid agreed there were some path's he'd like to take with me. Something about his foot and parts of my anatomy. Don't think he would've agreed to see me at all except he didn't want anything to look negative at his parole hearing."

Frank nodded. "Refusing to talk to an officer of the court. Yeah, I can see how that would go over with the board." Frank turned serious. "But really, Milt. This is crazy. Didn't you learn anything with Beal? And Beal was squeaky clean compared to this kid. I mean did you look at his juvenile record? This guy is bad news. You can't trust him to back you up. You need to drop this insane mission. Your intentions are good but you gotta accept that some of these guys aren't salvageable much less trustworthy enough to watch your back. It's too dangerous, the risk is too high." Frank's voice was rising, his frustration evident.

Milt put the steaks on the table then gazed across the yard to the ocean. "Yeah, you're probably right. But…ah hell, Frank. I'm retiring. If I don't do it now, I'll never get another chance and this is important stuff. I think McCormick's got what it takes. I think he can be shoved in the right direction. My gut tells me this kid is the one."

Frank's gut was telling him this kid was a punk destined to spend his life in and out of prison. Relying on him as a back-up might just get Milt killed.

"I want this one, Frank." Hardcastle said just above a whisper.

Frank looked at his friend. He remembered the boundless energy and how full of life Milt had been when he was a father and husband. The fishing and camping trips, the parties he and Nancy would throw and all the times they spent shooting the breeze and talking cop shop. He missed the old Milt but more importantly he wondered how much further Milt would withdraw if he retired and didn't have this project to occupy his mind.

He picked up the file. As he ate Frank silently went through the file again and again. Milt remained silent. He didn't need Frank's permission, but he was hoping to have at least one person in his corner. Frank finished his steak, stood and handed the file back to Milt. Without a word he carried dishes to the kitchen. The two men cleaned up then set up the card table, making conversation as old friends did, never mentioning the file.

Hardcastle walked the poker players to the door as Frank took his time getting his jacket and keys. Milt stood on the porch waving to the last of the cars heading out the driveway.

"I think you should go for it." Frank said, trying to hide his concern and sound confident.

Milt's face lit up. "Really? You mean that?"

"Sure, Milt. I dunno, who can say what's really going on in this guy's head. But I know your gut and if your gut says he's the one, well, that's good enough for me."

Milt let out a deep breath and a wide grin spread across his face. "Thanks, Frank. I know people are gonna think I went off the deep end, it means a lot to me to have your support." Frank was shocked at the unusual voicing of emotion. Claudia was going to tan his hide for not trying to stop Milt but looking into his friend's eyes he saw a glimmer of the old Milt. Frank smiled, patted Hardcastle on the back and turned to head to his car.

"I hope to hell we're right. And I hope you know I am going to personally keep an eye on this punk. If he even thinks of putting one toe out of line…"

"I wouldn't want it any other way." Hardcastle laughed.

Milt was jarred from his musings by an objection from the defense.

"Overruled." He replied gruffly, wondering if the attorney got his law degree from a Cracker Jack box.

He needed to get the ball rolling and get things in place before his retirement set in. He made plans to contact McCormick's PO and his thoughts drifted to how he would lay out the offer to convince McCormick to join him. He began taking mental notes. There was a lot to get done in two weeks; this time he made no effort to redirect his attention back to the testimony.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.

CHAPTER 2

Judge Milton C. Hardcastle (retired) liked his world to be neat and orderly. As a jurist he ran his court methodically, as a lawyer, his cases were meticulously prepared and as a cop his busts were airtight. His longtime housekeeper, Sarah, was an orderly person too and she kept his home and estate in top form. Yep, everything nice and orderly. Then he invited Mark McCormick…ex-con, ex-car thief, ex-racecar driver…to come live at the estate. McCormick, looking at a third trip upstate for GTA, agreed to be paroled into Hardcastle's custody. In exchange for staying out of prison, McCormick signed on to help the judge with his retirement project: chasing down criminals who had avoided prosecution and continued to break the law. The night Milt moved McCormick into his guesthouse was the night he willingly brought disorder into his life.

After running off to 'Vegas to capture a murderer, followed by McCormick's solo trip across the desert to return to Malibu, life at Gulls Way became a mostly dull routine. Sarah doled out chores to McCormick, who protested and grumbled but eventually got things done. McCormick and the judge worked a few cases and the judge was pleased that McCormick demonstrated that he had a nimble mind and the guts to stay the course when things got rough. Though McCormick complained and questioned everything Milt said, when the chips were down, McCormick did what was expected and bowed to Hardcastle's judgment. Milt was confident he had found his subordinate, even if he did come with a healthy dose of smart-aleck remarks, disagreement and insults.

A few months into the arrangement Hardcastle sat watching his charge mowing the lawn. The kid had chastised Hardcastle for not taking proper care of his equipment and had spent the previous evening overhauling the lawn mower engine. Hardcastle just about came unglued when he walked into the garage, thinking McCormick had left the light on, only to find McCormick sitting on a tarp, the lawnmower in a thousand pieces surrounding him. While the judge yelled and carried on Mark continued working methodically and put the machine back together. As Milt now looked on he had to admit it sounded like the mower was running smoother and quieter than it had in years. Maybe he owed the kid an apology but he didn't want to coddle him. Nope, a job well done was expected and shouldn't need recognition. His thoughts were broken by the phone ringing.

"Hardcastle."

"Hiya Milt. It's Frank. Frank Harper, you remember me?"

Hardcastle cringed at the sarcasm. He had not been avoiding Frank outright, but he hadn't reached out to his old friend either. He knew Frank wanted an update on his "project" and he fully intended to keep Frank in the loop, but he was hoping to smooth out some rough spots before he exposed McCormick to Frank. He wasn't sure Frank would appreciate or approve of McCormick's smart mouth and what others might perceive as a disrespectful attitude.

"Hey Frank, I was just going to call you," Milt replied with an upbeat tone. "How're things?"

"Great, Milt. How are things there?"

"Great, things are going great."

"I spoke with Bill the other day," Frank said slowly. Hardcastle winced. He knew where this was going.

"Uh huh," Hardcastle drawled.

"Heard you and your project got into a little hot water. What's, he got you doing B&E's now?"

"Now hold it right there." Hardcastle's temper flared. "That was all my doing, not McCormick's. In fact the whole thing was my idea so don't go thinking the kid's to blame for stuff when he's just following my orders."

"Huh." Frank was just getting warmed up. "I talked to Dalem too. The kid's PO told me McCormick was harboring a known felon, a parolee. His ex-cellmate no less. Was that on your orders too?"

"Well, not exactly." Hardcastle was tap dancing. "Look, that was a dirty PO and we busted the guy. Sure, maybe _technically_ it was a violation but there were extenuating circumstances and the kid came clean without me asking him."

"Was that before or after Gault had him arrested?"

Milt was silent. He should have known Frank wouldn't have missed any details.

"Look Frank, I know things are a bit unorthodox but hell, this whole arrangement is a bit weird and we're still working it out."

"Giles says the kid's a smart aleck, calls you a donkey?"

"Yeah, well," Milt chuckled. "He does run off at the mouth. Some of the stuff that kid comes up with cracks me up, but he has a quick mind to go with it. Ah hell Frank, the kid smarts off all the time but he doesn't mean anything by it. He's just blowing off steam and he takes as good as he gives."

Frank considered that anyone who could "take" what Hardcastle dished out had to have something going for him. But Frank didn't know anyone who could mouth-off to Hardcase Hardcastle and get away with it. Something seemed off with Milt's attitude.

"Look, we are still getting the hang of things, getting to know each other, grinding down the rough edges. Give it a little time, we'll get better at it, just wait and see." The judge sounded upbeat.

It was Frank's turn to be silent. "Time? Are you going to be able to keep him, and yourself out of jail while you figure it out? Milt, it seems like this kid is bad news. Maybe you should think about cutting your losses and moving on before something really bad happens." There, he'd said it. He and Bill Giles had discussed it and agreed this message would best come from Frank. Frank braced himself.

Milt felt his fury rise and he worked, only somewhat successfully, to control his anger. "Cut my losses? Move on? We aren't talking about cutting bait and heading upstream here, Frank, we are talking about a man's life, about his freedom and his future. I made a commitment and so did he. Now I know he's not perfect but he's trying, Frank, he's doing his part and damned if I am going to give up just because he isn't a saint coming out of the gate. There was a reason he was in my court, ya know, he makes dumb choices. I am here to show him how to make better choices and that doesn't happen overnight and it sure as hell doesn't happen by me just giving up because he isn't 'fixed' after a few months."

Frank sighed. Now that was the attitude he expected from Hardcastle. "Okay, Milt. I hear ya'. I'm just saying that in just a few months the kid committed two felonies that coulda landed him back in jail and he coulda taken you with him. Just because it worked out in these cases, maybe next time you won't be so lucky."

Struggling to remain calm Milt replied, "I know Frank, but I am trying to show him that there're other ways to get things done. And I really think his heart's in the right place, he's a good kid. He even has Sarah baking cookies for him and bringing him lemonade. And you know what he did? Without my saying a word he spent his own time tearing apart my lawnmower and rebuilding it. You should hear that thing humming around the yard, sounds like its brand new."

Frank was puzzled. Compliments from Milton C. Hardcastle were as rare as a straight flush yet here he was carrying on about his parolee…talking about his accomplishments, minimizing his shortcomings, justifying his illegal activities. And then it occurred to Frank: Milt sounded more alive than he had since Nancy had died. He was upbeat, happy, enthusiastic. It wasn't an employer objectively reviewing a subordinate, it sounded like a buddy having a friend's back. Worry began to build in Frank as he wondered what kind of con McCormick was running. What had he done to convince Milton C. Hardcastle to bend the law, accept flippant attitudes and to hand out compliments?

"Okay, Milt. So when do I get to meet the mechanical genius?"

Milt recognized a truce when he saw one and wasn't about to slap away the olive branch. "Why don't you come out to the house and we'll grill some steaks?"

"Sure, Claudia is heading out of town this weekend, how about I come over Friday after I drop her at the airport?"

"Sounds great. Hey, I've got an idea, why don't you stay here at the house? Sarah's going to be at her sister's. We can grill steaks and watch a movie on Friday and I'll get tickets to the Laker game on Sunday. I got a friend who owes me a favor, we can make a weekend out of it."

Frank smiled. A weekend? Yes, that was a good idea and he would like nothing better than to have a weekend to decipher what the heck was going on at Gulls Way. He would get to the bottom of things and if necessary, help Milt see through whatever con was being run.

"Sounds great, Milt. I'll see you Friday."

After the goodbye's Frank kicked back in his chair smiling smugly, happy about how he had finagled a weekend invite to Gulls Way. There was no way this ex-con was on the up and up and he was determined to get to the bottom of things. McCormick had to be running a scam and Milt was just too close to it to see what was being pulled over his eyes. Milt was sharp but hey, even the best can get fooled once in a while. Still, he remembered what Bill had said. McCormick came into his office and confessed, even tried to take the blame off of Milt. And the kid had gone back to pull that officer out of a burning wreck. That took guts, especially when he could have gotten off scot-free if he kept going. Frank frowned, suddenly feeling more confused than smug. Maybe there was more to this kid than Frank wanted to admit. Maybe Milt was the one who was seeing things clearly and it was Frank himself looking at things with jaded glasses.

Then Frank remembered Milt's tone and the lift that was in his voice. He had gotten used to the new Milt and accepted that his friend would always be somber and remorseful. Some people never got over losses like Milt had endured. But today he heard the old Milt, the Milt he missed so dearly. And a fleeting thought crossed Frank's mind; Milt sounded almost like a proud parent, the same way he had spoken about Tommy so many years ago. Frank's mind drifted into a musing of Milt adopting a smart-mouthed ex-con, ex-racecar driver, ex-car thief from Jersey.

"Never in a million years," Frank said out loud and then snickered.

But if having McCormick around made Milt happy and gave him a reason to live life to its fullest, well, that was more than okay with Frank. He would do his part to help keep this arrangement on the straight and narrow. Yep, a long weekend was just what he needed to sort things out.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.

CHAPTER 3

"MCCORMICK!" Judge Hardcastle bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Where are you?"

The object of the inquiry groaned, lulled his head to the side and peaked at the clock through one heavy eyelid. Ugh! 5:35 AM. What could the donkey possibly want at this hour? Before he could give it much more consideration he heard the door of his little house flung open.

"What are you doing, didn't you hear me call you?" Hardcastle said as he trudged up the stairs.

McCormick groaned again and rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Yes, I heard you. As a matter of fact, everyone in Malibu heard you. Your braying is still heading over the ocean on its way for people in Asia to hear you."

"Very funny, Hotshot. Now get up, we've got things to do. Five minutes, see ya courtside." With that the Judge headed down the stairs to give the kid a little privacy. As he walked through the living room he marveled at the condition of the gatehouse. Sarah had been on him to get Mark to clean up and now he saw why. Clothes, clean and dirty, were strewn everywhere. Empty soda cans, books, papers and other detritus were scattered about. The judge sighed. How could anyone live in such disorder? Well, it was McCormick's space and as much as it pained him, Hardcastle resigned himself to allow the kid to have this one little piece of personal choice. He'd just have to tell Sarah not to clean it for him, no matter how much it annoyed her.

A few minutes later McCormick was on the court, shoulders slouched, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweatshirt. Hardcastle bounced the ball to McCormick who barely freed his hands in time to catch it.

"You should warm up," the Judge suggested.

Mark responded with a deep yawn. "I was warm. Nice and cozy, in fact, until you woke me up. What's with the pre-dawn start, Hardcase? It's early, even for you."

"Yep. Big day. Lot's to do. Now you gonna warm up or not?"

"Not." McCormick threw the ball back to the Judge. "Take it out."

Hardcastle smiled. "Okay. $20 says I'll get to 20 before you."

"Yeah, yeah." Mark waved a dismissive hand towards the Judge. "Just get going, will ya?"

Hardcastle smiled and threw the ball to McCormick who bounced it back. "Check." He said unenthusiastically. The Judge quickly scored and thought it was going to be an easy win. The kid was half asleep and didn't seem to have his heart in it. The judge had 8 points before McCormick scored and soon it was 10-2. Hardcastle smiled wryly.

"Whatsa matter, kid, can't beat a man twice your age?"

"I can beat you anytime I want. I'm just pacing myself." McCormick replied lazily.

"Tell you what," Hardcastle grinned as he bounced the ball casually. "How 'bout we double the bet?"

Mark chortled and in a playfully menacing tone replied, "You're on."

The judge moved forward but Mark lithely reached around and stole the ball. He played to the backcourt and made an effortless jump shot from the far edge of the court. "Nothing but net! And that's three." Hardcastle shot him a look.

"We don't play three pointers," he argued. Mark laughed.

McCormick seemed suddenly awake. All visages of slothfulness instantly vanished, in its place was an agile, fast moving body that was hitting every shot and able to easily work lanes around Milt's defenses. Milt managed a play here and there but really couldn't keep up with the kid who seemed to be on a mission and wasn't missing any shots.

Finally, McCormick dumped another longshot and beamed at the judge. He at least had the courtesy to bend over with his hands on his thighs and breathed a little heavily.

"That three pointer should make it 21, Hardcase, but I'll settle for 20…and that's game." Milt had the distinct impression he'd been hustled. He grabbed the ball; as he headed to the house he called over his shoulder.

"Get cleaned up, we've got things to do. Breakfast in 30 minutes." He retreated to the sound of Mark's laughter and once he was sure that he was out of earshot he broke into laughter himself. Yeah, the kid had definitely hustled him and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Twenty-five minutes later McCormick came busting into the kitchen. Sarah looked up from her cooking, startled as McCormick slammed the door.

"Good morning, Sarah. Smells great in here." McCormick reached for a mug and poured coffee for himself as she set two plates on the table.

"Good morning, Mark." Sarah said as she started cleaning the kitchen. "I'll be ready to leave at 10:00."

Mark looked up from his food confused as Hardcastle came into the kitchen and sat across from him.

"Thanks, Sarah. McCormick, after breakfast you need to take Sarah to the airport. Then get right back here, we've got a lot to do today."

"Airport? Where ya going, Sarah?" Mark asked, surprised. Sarah gave the judge a scowl.

"I am going to visit my sister in San Francisco. I assumed the Judge would have told you. I can call a cab, I don't want to be a bother."

"No, of course not, I'll take you." Mark frowned. "When you comin' back?" He tried not to sound desperate.

"Next Sunday. I assume you two can stay out of trouble that long?" Both men nodded then tucked silently into their meals.

Mark thought about the upcoming ten days without her. Beyond the basic questions of who would do all the things that Sarah did, he assumed those responsibilities would fall into his fluid job description, he thought about being alone with the judge for that long. Sure, they were getting along alright and it wasn't as if Sarah interacted all that much with them anyway, still, she was there at meals, offering snacks when they watched a movie and had cold drinks ready when he worked in the yard. Most importantly her silent presence was a gatekeeper for both men; she'd scowl at Hardcase when he got too critical and raise her eyebrows at Mark when his mouthing off was approaching that invisible line that he liked to flirt with. Well, maybe he could manage to not let the old donkey goad him for ten days. He was going to miss Sarah, and somehow the thought of missing her felt strange.

Mark walked into the house and slammed the door. "Judge! I stopped for burgers, figured we could save time making lunch and get right to that chore list you've been talking about." Mark was determined not to rile the judge and figured a positive attitude couldn't hurt to start their Sarah-less week.

Hardcastle appreciated the kid's attempt at enthusiasm so decided to forgo commenting on the door slamming.

"Good. Let's eat in the den so we can go over things. We have a lot to get done so I thought we would split up the list." As they ate the judge rattled off his list.

"You take the truck and run some errands for me," Hardcastle did not miss the shocked look that crossed the younger man's face. McCormick didn't get off on his own too often and never before with a prescribed list of responsibilities. Mark sat up a bit straighter and seemed to be listening intently.

"Now first thing, go to the post office and buy a roll of stamps." Hardcastle began.

"Ah, not the post office, c'mon Judge, I hate going to the post office." Mark whined. "There's always a line full of blue haired ladies and they all want to chat with me. C'mon, can't you go to the post office? Heck, maybe you could even get a date out of the deal."

Hardcastle took a deep breath. "No, I am NOT going to the post office YOU are. Now after the post office, I want you to have a set of house keys made. Make copies of the ones I gave you. Next, go to the bank and cash this check." He handed McCormick a check made out to cash for $500. "I already called the bank so they shouldn't give you any hassle. Ask for Harvey if they squawk." Mark nodded his understanding, staring at the check.

"Last, go to the garden shop. They got my special order of manure in and you need to pick it up."

Mark snickered, "You _special order_ manure? You do know what that is, right?"

"Of course I do and stop interrupting. Now…"

"No wait. Let me understand this. What makes this manure 'special'? I wouldn't want to get the wrong manure. I mean, if I don't get the right stuff it's just, what, crap?" McCormick asked with a toothy grin.

Hardcastle's voice was starting to rise as he was losing patience. "If you must know the nitrate levels in this brand are just right for the roses. I special ordered it, I already paid for it, you are gonna pick it up. Anything else?"

"Nope, got it. You order the crap, I fetch it. No questions asked. So, what are you going to be doing while I am off doing the hard work?"

"Whaaaat?" the judge sputtered out the word, incensed. "What am I going to be doing? None of your business that's what!" he shouted. Milt was surprised to see a hurt look flash on Mark's face and then was instantly gone. He sighed. "If you must know I have some paperwork I need to finish and then I'm going to go to the grocery store. I'll pick up steaks for dinner. I figured we can take turns cooking. I'll grill steaks tonight, you'll be in charge of breakfast in the morning. Sandwiches tomorrow at lunch and so on. That work for you?"

Mark nodded.

"Let's go over your schedule for this afternoon."

"Schedule? What are you talking about? You gave me the run down, crap, cash, stamps, keys. I got it. We don't need to go over it again."

"Now see, that's what I mean, you're not listening," Hardcastle's frustration was showing. "I said, stamps, keys, cash and then crap. Now, with traffic, it might take you 30 minutes to get to the post office. I figure 15 minutes to get the stamps. The locksmith's a few doors down, say 30 minutes to walk there and have the keys made. Maybe 10 more in case he's busy; he's by himself in the shop so sometimes you gotta wait. Another 15 minutes to the bank and say 15 minutes to get through the Friday lines. 10 minutes back to the garden store, 20 to get the stuff and load the truck than 20 minutes home. Allowing a little extra time for incidentals, if you leave by 1:00 you should be back here no later than 4:00. Anything comes up, you call. Don't make me put out an APB and get you a seat on the bus heading north. Got it?"

Mark stared incredulously at Hardcastle. He couldn't believe the donkey was scheduling his afternoon down to the minute. Every response that came to mind would likely have him sitting on that bus to Quentin instead of eating steaks on the patio so he kept his mouth shut and managed one nod. He stood up and began cleaning up the remnants from lunch.

"Here's cash for the stamps and keys, and a little extra in case you see anything at the garden store that we need. Oh, and here's your $40 from this morning."

Mark grinned and took the money. He put the $40 in his wallet and shoved the other cash into his pocket. He knew he wouldn't get away again with the hustle he pulled this morning so he just gave a mock salute and carried the trash to the kitchen.

The Judge shook his head. It shouldn't be this hard. He should say jump and the kid should ask how high. But then he thought about McCormick's comments and he chuckled. He couldn't help it. The kid's smart mouth and quick wit made him laugh. His thoughts were broken by McCormick stepping just inside the den.

"How about I cook dinner and you cook breakfast?"

"What? No!" Hardcastle shot back.

"Why not?"

Hardcastle rolled his eyes and silently prayed for patience. Why couldn't this kid every just follow directions?

"Because I said I'd cook dinner, that's why."

"Well that isn't much of a reason." Before Hardcastle could respond Mark plowed ahead. "The way I see it, you're the morning person so you should cook breakfast. Me, I like being up late so dinner should be my thing. If you leave me in charge of breakfast it's gonna be cold cereal or half cooked eggs. Besides if I cook dinner you can take it easy, relax and enjoy a cool drink before we eat." The judge found himself nodding along with Mark's plan. Before he could reassert his authority and tell McCormick that they would do things his way, Mark turned and headed for the door.

"Thanks, Judge. Trust me. This'll work better. While you're at the store get potatoes for baking and maybe some ice cream. Oh, and I checked, we're out of beer and low on popcorn. And don't forget sandwich makings for lunch tomorrow and you might as well get some milk and OJ." Mark bounced out and slammed the door. A few minutes later Hardcastle heard the truck heading up the driveway.

What had just happened? He had a plan and in two shakes of a lamb's tail it was turned upside down. While considering how things went so far astray the phone rang.

"Hardcastle."

"Well hello to you too," Frank responded.

"Oh, hi Frank. Wassup?" Hardcastle shook off his musings.

"Nothing. Just getting ready to take Claudia to the airport. Should be by your place around 5:00. That work for you?"

"Yeah fine, Frank, that works. And I got the Laker tickets so we are all set."

"Great. I'm looking forward to meeting McCormick." Hardcastle immediately recognized Frank's "cop voice." Hardcastle knew Frank wanted to check out McCormick but he didn't want him to scare the kid off. He was making progress with McCormick, giving him responsibilities and even showing the kid he trusted him by letting him go solo to run the afternoon's errands. Though in truth the kid wasn't going to be as far out of arm's reach as he might think, still, it was an exercise in faith and building the kid's confidence.

"Yeah, Frank, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised, if you give him a chance."

"I doubt it. Things usually end up being just like they appear." Hardcastle grimaced at Frank's deadpan remark.

They said their goodbyes. Hardcastle stared at the phone for a moment contemplating what Frank hadn't said. This might be harder than he thought. He better talk to McCormick, suggest he tone down the attitude at least until Frank had a chance to get to know him. Last thing he needed was for the kid to smart off to Frank or worse, for Frank to go all bad cop on him and cause McCormick's defensive wall to go up. Well, he still had time before Frank arrived. He'd prep the kid, maybe even get him to clean the gatehouse. Milt shook his head. It was going to be an interesting weekend.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.

CHAPTER 4

The old truck sputtered, jerked, and then went silent except for the ever-present rattles. McCormick swore as he struggled to maneuver the antique safely off the road and onto a dirt pull out. He got the truck to a stop, slipped on the brake and pocketed the keys. Leaning his head against the steering wheel he considered what to do next. He exited the truck and locked her up, not that anyone would want to steal her. After a quick look for traffic he scurried across the PCH and started walking towards Gulls Way. It couldn't be more than a mile or two and the weather was mild. If he hadn't been so irritated he might have enjoyed the walk with the sun and ocean view on his left.

He walked along still holding out hope that he could arrive at the estate before Judge Hardcastle. The old donkey had made it abundantly clear he expected his yardman to complete the assigned errands and return straightaway. The Judge laid out a timeline, including projected wait times at the locksmith, bank and post office, as well as loading time at the garden center. Hardcastle was adamant about the expected arrival time back at the estate followed by mention of APB's and one-way tickets, to places Mark did not want to think about, if he failed to arrive at the appointed hour. Hardcastle would have headed off in the other direction to run his own errands including shopping for the dinner Mark was in charge of preparing. Since being released into the Judge's custody McCormick had struggled to figure out what the rules were, but he had a pretty clear idea that being where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there was in big bold letters on the otherwise nebulous rule list. Not that he could be blamed for being late; if the gauge had worked properly he would have known to stop for fuel, but Milton C. Hardcastle seemed to have his own idea of what McCormick should be blamed for and Mark really didn't want to test the stubborn donkey's logic of where guilt could be assigned. With that thought he picked up his pace.

Frank Harper was heading to Gulls Way when he saw Milt's truck on the side of the road. He quickly pulled off and noted the truck didn't appear to have been in an accident, was locked and showed no signs of foul-play. Frank chuckled—probably ran out of gas again. He wondered if Milt even considered the fuel gauge more than a superfluous accessory. He pulled back onto the PCH and soon came across the young man walking along the opposite shoulder. Even from the back he was pretty sure it was the parolee Milt had taken in. He slowed as he passed the pedestrian then pulled the car over. He exited the car with attitude and from across the road aimed a hard stare at the approaching man.

Mark heard the car coming up behind him and watched it pull off onto the shoulder. The hair stood up on the back of his neck as a fleeting thought of thugs with guns crossed his mind. Just a short time chasing down bad guys with Hardcastle already had him seeing trouble everywhere he looked. But as he took in the undeniable indistinctiveness of an unmarked police car and the middle age man screaming 'plain clothes' a different worry entered his mind. He tried to steady his nerves, reminding himself that he hadn't done anything to be nervous about, and even Hardcase wouldn't have put out an APB this quickly. He stopped, slowly half turned to face the officer straight on, arms at his sides with hands visible. The officer stayed behind his open door as if he was ready to drop for cover. At least he hadn't pulled out his sidearm or cuffs.

"You're McCormick." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yep. Can I help you?"

Frank had never met McCormick but he had read his jacket several times. The first time Milt had asked his opinion Frank had fought to keep his temper in check. How many times had he told Milt his opinion: it was dangerous and absurd to bring criminals into your home. But Milt was an old friend who had long ago lost his spark for life and this project, and specifically this particular parolee, interested Milt like nothing had in years. So instead of telling Milt what he really thought, he took the file and mulled it over. Nothing in this kid's file screamed rehabilitatable, but truth be told, nothing screamed dangerous career criminal, either. Of course, Beale's jacket had been even more benign and that experiment was disastrous.

As McCormick stood facing him Frank looked him over with scorn. The kid had not quite assumed the position but his body language made it clear he knew the drill and was doing nothing to put his intentions in question. Well, Frank was glad for the opening to play his part. He had every intention of educating this punk on the consequences of any harm coming to Milt. Frank wanted him to know he would be watched, closely.

"What are you doing out here?" Frank asked in his best accusatory bad cop tone. Mark looked at him a bit incredulously but to his credit, his voice remained calm and steady.

"Well, officer, as I am sure your trained eye observed, Hardcastle's truck is back there. I thought I'd use an alternate, albeit legal, form of transportation to return to Gulls Way. Unless you want to bust me for jaywalking I'm going to high-tail it over there so an APB isn't issued when I'm one minute overdue." Mark replied trying to keep his voice level, friendly and innocent but he couldn't keep the sarcasm from seeping in.

Frank surveyed him a moment and then ordered, "Get in, I'm giving you a lift."

Mark thought about declining but decided that would raise suspicions so he jogged back across the road. As he neared the car he innocently asked, "Front seat or back?" Frank looked up to see a smirk on McCormick's face and he had to work to keep his own grin in check. Bad cops don't laugh at wisecracks from the perps. He motioned to the front and Mark climbed in.

"Frank Harper," Frank said has he pulled onto the PCH. "Lieutenant, Frank Harper."

"Nice to meet you, Lieutenant." Several smart mouthed remarks were struggling to escape but with effort Mark kept them corralled. He had met some of Hardcastle's acquaintances with varying success. Some seemed willing to give him a chance, others worked hard at making him feel every bit the ex-con. Almost all had made it clear they were not too keen on the idea of him and Hardcastle working together much less sharing an address. Hardcastle had mentioned Harper but Mark didn't know what to expect. He wanted to feel this out a bit before he got himself into trouble.

"Were you on your way out to Gulls Way or just coincidence that you happened by?" Mark winced as the words came out. Who was he to be asking a cop his business?

But to Mark's surprise Harper casually replied. "Nope, I was heading out to see Milt. We're having dinner."

Mark grimaced. He should have put it together. The tight timeline, the Judge picking up steaks. He should have seen something was up. Hardcastle loved springing these social events on Mark and usually the ones he didn't know about were with the people least likely to accept him…like a cop…like a detective and one with rank. McCormick sighed and Frank glanced in his direction.

"He didn't tell you, huh?" Frank broke into Mark's musings. Mark shook his head.

"You run out of gas?"

"Uh, yeah. You know not much really works on that old truck. If he'd warned me I could have at least put a few gallons in. I told him I could fix the old girl but apparently donkeys don't understand simple English, or mechanics for that matter." So much for 'feeling him out' Mark thought but was relieved to hear Frank chuckle.

They made the rest of the trip in silence. Frank pulled up near the door and Mark jumped out almost before the car stopped. The 'Vette was not back yet which gave Mark some relief, though he would still have to listen to the old coot go on about leaving his truck alongside the road. He thought briefly about asking the Lieutenant to give him and a gas can a lift back but decided not to push his luck with another sequestered ride in the car. He pulled his keys from his pocket and started towards the front door.

"The Judge should be back any minute. You want to wait inside?" As he went to unlock the door he glanced at Frank and stopped cold. Frank was watching him with complete disbelief and anger seethed from his eyes.

"You have keys to his house?" Frank's voice was laced with contempt.

"Uh, well, yeah." Mark stammered. "I mean, well, he gave me a set. It's not like I took them without his knowledge."

"Maybe you and I should both wait inside and have a little chat." Frank motioned Mark towards the door and he watched as Mark unlocked it. Frank motioned for Mark to proceed him. With familiarity Frank moved into the den and indicated a chair for Mark to sit in. As Mark dropped into the seat, Frank turned his chair to face him. With practiced skill Frank let the silence build and grow thick. He sat perfectly still but could feel McCormick's unease building as the young man fought the urge to fidget.

McCormick sat as still as he could, eyes lowered, mouth shut. How easily he slipped into this role of ex-con, bowing to authority. It felt too much like prison and Harper sounded too much like a CO about to drop a blow for some petty infraction. He knew who had the power and he knew it wouldn't help his cause to fight it. His prison sense kicked in telling him to keep his mouth shut and play the model subservient inmate. With increasing anxiety Mark waited impatiently to be spoken to.

Frank was surprised. He expected to get a bit more attitude but the kid truly seemed scared. He looked at the lanky man sitting upright, hands on his thighs, eyes lowered and mouth tightly shut and suddenly he felt like he had just kicked a puppy. He cleared his throat.

"So, how are things going with you and Milt?" He couldn't believe his own ears. His question had friendly, almost concerned undertones. He saw the young man take a deep breath and relax. Damn. That is not how he wanted this to play out.

Mark blew out the breath and responded, "Well, Lieutenant, it is going." Mark wasn't sure how much the Lieutenant knew about their arrangement and didn't want to say something Hardcastle would have to explain. "I do my hard labor, he throws me some bread and water, and once in a while he unchains me so I can leave the ranch. Although I now understand that when he takes the hobbles off he only gives me enough leash to stray a few miles."

This time Frank couldn't help but laugh. Milt said the kid's mouth kept him on his toes and Frank was beginning to see why. But Frank was not ready to let go of his bad cop persona too quickly.

"Sounds like you have it pretty easy to me," he baited the kid. He knew living with Hardcastle would be anything but easy. That anyone could do it for any length of time was a miracle.

"Easy? Are you kidding me? Let me tell you about 'easy', Lieutenant. It's gorilla basketball in the middle of the night. Then it's trimming miles of hedges and mowing acres of lawn before breakfast followed by an endless list of chores from Hardcase and another from Sarah. And if I step one big toe out of line, boy do I hear about it. Not that I am ever told ahead of time where that line is. Easy, is not how I would describe it." Mark's tirade wound down and he looked at the officer, slightly abashed, suspecting he had been goaded.

The Lieutenant replied in a low steady voice, "There is an alternative."

Mark blanched. He lowered his eyes, put his voice back in check and with the proper amount of acquiescence in place said, "Yes, Lieutenant, I fully understand that, and I never, ever, want to take that option or do anything to make the Judge pick that option for me."

Now Frank's smile was genuine. "Good. Then don't do anything to make him change his mind. I'll have my eye on you and I am telling you now, if you do anything to harm him, San Quentin will be the least of your worries." Mark gulped but acknowledged with a slow nod.

The 'Vette pulled up and Mark jumped up. He knew Hardcase would note the absence of the GMC and be ready to spit nails thinking Mark was not back. But he stopped short, eyeing Frank.

"Am I free to go, Lieutenant?" Frank laughed out loud at the kid's choice of words.

Frank gave a nod and replied, "Yes, but don't leave town." Mark returned the laugh.

"Wouldn't dream of it. That'd be too easy."

Mark bolted up the steps to head off the Hardcastle storm and enlighten the old man on the merits of keeping his vehicles in running order. Frank got up and moved to the window to watch the exchange. With raised voices and gesticulations on both sides he considered that Milt had indeed renewed his spark for life but wondered if McCormick was more like a can of gasoline pouring over that spark.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.

CHAPTER 5

Milton C. Hardcastle was whistling a Dixieland tune as he drove down the PCH. It was a beautiful afternoon with the sun starting to dip over the ocean on his right. With the top down on the 'Vette the breeze was cool but enjoyable. He had spent more time than he had planned at the market. His young charge had added items to his list and he couldn't help but stroll and throw in a few additional things. He was dismayed at the total, when did his food bill get so high? Actually, he knew exactly when his food bill went through the roof, it was the day he brought Mark McCormick to come live under said roof. The kid could put food away like there was no tomorrow. Still, it made Hardcastle happy to see a hearty appetite and McCormick appeared thankful for every morsel he ate. Hardcastle had picked out thick porterhouse steaks for dinner this evening. He was placing internal bets on who would eat more, McCormick, or his longtime friend Frank Harper who was joining them for dinner.

His positive attitude and pleasant musings came to a sudden halt when he pulled into the driveway and saw Frank's car. He glanced at his watch. 4:15. Damn. Frank was early. His mood quickly turned dark when he noticed his GMC truck was nowhere to be seen. McCormick had been sent out on his own set of errands and should have been back 30 minutes ago. Since being paroled into his custody McCormick had not had many opportunities to venture out on his own but when he did he always returned on time. The kid liked to push the limits, but he seemed to instinctively know that being where he was supposed to be at the right time was not negotiable.

As he exited the 'Vette he mentally debated his next steps. Frank would be asking where McCormick was and he didn't want to admit that the kid was overdue. Still, he had told the kid to be back by 4:00 or else, and McCormick knew he wouldn't hesitate to follow through on the "or else". Maybe the kid had been delayed at the bank, cashing a $500 check could raise some concerns, or maybe $500 and a three-hour head start was too much temptation and the kid had split. Nah, if he was going to take off, he wouldn't do it mid-afternoon and he wouldn't leave the Coyote behind. Besides, he knew the GMC was short on gas. Unless the kid had the foresight to fill her up, he wasn't getting far.

As he considered the possibilities the front door flung open and McCormick marched to where the judge was parked. Throwing his hands into the air he spat out, "You coulda told me the damn gas gauge is broken."

Relief flashed in Hardcastle's eyes but quickly the soft blue turned to hardened steel as his own ire was rising at McCormick's tone.

"You had plenty of gas if you stuck to the plan. And where's my truck?"

"Stick to the plan? Of course, I stuck to the plan. What else could I do when every minute had to be accounted for and recorded?" Mark saw the rage in Hardcastle's eyes and remembered Sarah had just left for ten days and there was a rather hostile police lieutenant, who had just told him he better be toeing the line, observing the exchange.

Mark took a deep breath and tamped down his anger. "Sorry, I shouldn't have yelled. Your truck is down the road. There's some gas in the shed, I'll put the groceries away and walk back to her before I start dinner."

Hardcastle also noticed that they had an audience as Frank was now on the porch. He managed a weak grin and with equally controlled volume handed McCormick a couple of grocery bags. "Nah Kid, I'll give you a ride. Hiya Frank, you're early."

"Yep. Claudia met a friend who was also flying out so I didn't stick around to see her plane off. Looks like I would have missed all the fun if I'd arrived at 5:00." Frank shot a look at McCormick and Milt noticed the defensive wall was going up as McCormick lowered his eyes and quickly made his way into the house. Milt handed two bags to Frank and grabbed the remaining items himself. Before they could go into the house Frank stopped and turned around to face the judge.

"You gave him keys to your house?" His incredulity was obvious.

"Well, yeah, he does live here ya know." Hardcastle stammered. He saw Mark coming back out the door. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Oh, sure, Milt. I am happy to talk about this later." Frank gave Milt a long stare as Mark approached.

"I'll take those, Lieutenant." Mark relieved Frank of the bags and returned to the house not oblivious that he had interrupted a discussion in which he, no doubt, was the topic.

Mark quickly dispersed the groceries then slipped out the back door. He grabbed a gas can from the shed, checking to make sure it was full, then returned via the garage where he grabbed a shop rag and a few tools. He put his collection near the 'Vette then with a deep breath went into the house and waited patiently at the entrance to the den. Frank and Milt seemed to be exchanging pleasantries, or at least they didn't stop talking and stare at him when he entered.

"You ready?" Hardcastle asked.

"Um, yeah, but I don't want to interrupt. I don't mind walking back, it's not that far."

"Don't be an idiot." Hardcastle waved him off. "Besides, you need to get back and get dinner started." Frank's eyebrows rose slightly at this. "Be right back, Frank, make yourself at home."

The judge opened the trunk and McCormick stowed his gear then got in the passenger seat. He could sense, more than see, the detective watching them from the den window. He tried not to look at the window, or to look guilty, or look, well, anything.

Hardcastle could feel his tenseness. As he drove out to the PCH he shot a look at McCormick. He was sitting rigid, eyes straight ahead, lips tightly shut. His defensive wall staunchly in place.

"Guess you figured out, Frank's staying for dinner?" Hardcastle asked trying not to sound like it was an apology. A grunt and an "Uh huh" was the only response.

"I was going to tell ya…"

"Don't you mean, 'warn me'?" Mark tersely cut him off.

"Yeah, okay, maybe. Look, Frank's an old friend, probably the oldest friend I've got. He's a good guy, you'll see. Just wait 'til you get to know him."

Mark blinked and turned to face the judge. "What does that mean?" he asked sincerely. "I don't think I am the one you need to have this conversation with, Judge, I don't know anything about him but he seems to already have a strong dislike for me." The judge cringed. This was not going at all as he had planned. He passed his truck, made a U-turn and pulled in behind it. Mark jumped out and retrieved the items from the trunk.

"You don't have to wait, I'll get her going and be right behind you," Mark suggested.

"Nah, I'll wait. Wouldn't want to have to come back for you and I don't want you having to walk home again on this road, it'll be dark soon."

McCormick bristled at what seemed like distrust. But as he poured the gas into the truck there was a different thought niggling at him. Hardcastle's tone was not distrust it was something else. Parental? Nah, couldn't be, still, it gave Mark a warm feeling and a smile made its way onto his face. He got into the truck, cranked her over and with some finessing of the choke she started up. Hardcastle gave a slight wave then pulled onto the PCH, the GMC following behind.

Mark pulled the truck around back and quickly unloaded the fertilizer he had picked up earlier. He returned to the house through the kitchen and washed his hands. He put glasses and a pitcher of iced tea on a tray then took them into the den, making sure to make enough noise as to not appear to be eavesdropping. There was no need as the two men were discussing the Lakers. Mark handed each a glass and left the pitcher.

"Unless you need anything else, I'm gonna start dinner." Frank looked from Mark to Milt.

"Nah, this is fine," Hardcastle replied taking a sip of his tea.

Mark quickly retreated to the kitchen and started his preparations. He really wasn't much of a cook but he could manage to grill hunks of beef and bake potatoes. He saw the judge had picked up salad makings so once the potatoes were washed and baking he went about chopping. He pulled out the steaks and unwrapped them. He gave a slight whistle at their size and thought either Frank was a big eater or the Judge was trying to make this a positive evening. Maybe both. He busied himself setting the table, dishing up condiments and warming up the grill. Finally, when he had exhausted all other excuses, he returned to the den.

"Anyone getting hungry? Those steaks are going take about a half hour, should I get them started?"

Hardcastle glanced at Frank who nodded.

"Need any help?"

"No." Mark was quick to respond. "Thanks, though, you guys can visit, I've got it under control." Mark's nervousness was obvious.

"Oh, here's your change, Judge." Mark pulled a crumpled mess of receipts, bills and coins, out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. "I didn't use the extra money, I was running late so didn't poke around the garden center. Your stamps," he retrieved the roll from another pocket, "and your cash." He handed the judge an envelope with the bank's logo. Hardcastle noticed Frank eyeing the envelope. "Oh, and the spare keys you wanted." Mark handed over several keys on a ring.

Mark felt the tension rising in the room. He saw Frank looking at the envelope and then eyeing Mark with a narrow gaze. He looked like he was about to comment but not wanting to hear what he had to say, Mark made a quick exit. He'd hide out in the kitchen until the food was ready. Maybe the reason behind those big steaks was to keep everyone's mouths busy, minimize talking. At any rate, he'd get through dinner, take his time cleaning the kitchen then excuse himself early and retreat to the gatehouse. He'd leave Hardcastle and Harper to whatever it is they wanted to discuss, which he assumed was him. He just had to get through the next couple hours then Harper would be gone.

Frank gave Hardcastle a long stare as Milt concentrated on putting his change into his wallet and then putting the cash and keys in the safe.

"Aren't you going to count it?" Frank asked.

"Nah, I…" Milt was about to say he trusted Mark but the look on Frank's face stopped him. Where had that come from? He knew better than to trust the kid, McCormick hadn't been with him that long. Frank would think he was being reckless and Frank would be right. Milt _did_ trust him, but still, he didn't want to have to try to explain it to Frank since he couldn't explain it to himself. He quickly augmented his statement. "…will count it later."

Frank was not fooled. "What's going on here, Milt? Are you letting this con con you? You cannot possibly think he is reformed and deserving of this level of trust? I mean, you gave him keys to the house, trust him with, how much cash? And when you invited me to dinner it didn't occur to me that it would be the three of us."

"Where else would he be for dinner?" Hardcastle growled, incensed. "He lives here, he eats, here. He even watches TV here."

Frank raised his eyebrows and didn't back down.

"And you trust him this much? Based on what? This is not like you, Milt. You are not one to be taken in by these clowns. I've never seen you so chummy with your previous projects. What's going on here, talk to me."

Milt sighed. How could he put into words that which he didn't understand?

"I know, Frank, you're right. I do trust him more than I probably should. Heck, occasionally I even like the kid. There is something about him. He isn't the tough ex-con he pretends to be and his smart mouth is just his way to keep people at arm's length. When I get him to let down that wall I see a good person inside. Ah hell, Frank, I can't explain it. It makes no sense but we're making it work."

Frank silently considered the explanation. Something was definitely working; it had been years since he'd seen Milt this upbeat and engaged in life. Milt was an expert at using his mouth to keep people at arm's length but it surprised him that Milt recognized this trait in McCormick. Could it be Milt was seeing a younger version of himself? Maybe Milt was thriving because he felt needed? It all seemed on the up and up but not consistent with the Milt he knew. Then again, it was consistent with the old Milt that Frank thought was long gone. Frank hoped McCormick was on the level not just a skilled con artist playing to Milt's weaknesses.

Hardcastle broke the silence with a light-hearted reply hoping to hide the awkwardness of his revelations.

"If it's any consolation, I didn't tell McCormick you'd be joining us. He wasn't too happy either." Frank laughed. He wouldn't press, not now. He had all weekend to sort out this mess. He'd take it one step at a time.

Dinner was a stilted affair. There were compliments to the chef and in Hardcastle's choice of meat cuts, as well as a brief discussion of how the Laker's were doing. Mark kept quiet throughout the meal, answering as briefly as possible when Hardcastle tried to drag him into the conversation. Frank asked a few questions about what Mark was doing around the estate. Mark answered each politely and succinctly, like a school boy responding to a teacher, without any trace of his usual smart mouth. Milt watched the kid acting as if the spirit had been beaten out of him. He felt a pang of sadness and suppressed an urge to prod the kid into a livelier mood. McCormick kept his head down and his guard up.

Mark excused himself to start with the dishes, assuring the other two he didn't need help. As Mark cleared the dishes he shooed the other men out of the kitchen. He was about to throw a quick "Goodnight" down the hall when Hardcastle returned to the kitchen.

"I'll make popcorn, you grab beers. The movie is about to start." Hardcastle said. Mark looked at him, not sure how to respond. The judge was almost giddy, like a kid hosting his first slumber party. Mark knew the Judge wanted him and Frank to get along and he didn't have the heart to burst his bubble. He could suck it up for a couple more hours.

"Sure. Who is the Duke taking on tonight? Vikings? The Roman Legion? The Apache Nation? Or maybe the Girl Scouts."

"Very funny. Tonight's movie is a classic. _The Sons of Katie Elder._ You'll like it, it's about respecting the law even when it seems like the law is stacked against you." Mark frowned.

"Terrific. Let me get a pad of paper and take notes." He grabbed two beers and poured himself a glass of milk. He headed to the den, the judge followed with bowls of popcorn.

Frank was comfortably ensconced in the chair Mark traditionally occupied for movies. McCormick handed him a beer and took up residence on the couch. Frank watched him but offered no expression or comment as Milt passed out bowls of popcorn.

"Dinner was good, Mark, where'd you learn to cook?" Frank asked. It wasn't much of an olive branch but he figured a little "good cop" might get McCormick to let his guard down.

Mark's face was expressionless. He knew he should stay on edge, not trust this cop, but he also found himself liking the guy. Frank was Hardcastle's friend and if Mark was going to be living at the estate, indefinitely, he might as well make an effort to get along.

"Well, I sure as heck didn't learn it from Hardcase here. His idea of cooking is to slap anything between two pieces of bread. Or are you referring to my exquisite salad? Really, the secret is adding the avocado just before you toss it, gives it just the right flare and adds texture, don't you think?" Mark plastered a mock-sincere look on his face. Frank chuckled. Hardcastle glared. Mark focused on the movie which was just getting started.

Not long afterward Hardcastle arose, picked up the empty milk glass and threw an afghan over a sleeping McCormick. Frank watched with interest as Milt turned and had a soft smile on his face. Frank had a sudden flash of memory to a time many years ago, a different young man and a different Hardcastle. He silently prayed that McCormick was all that he appeared to be because right then he realized how invested Milt was in this ex-con and he wasn't sure Milt could survive another loss.

Hardcastle grimaced slightly, embarrassed over his actions.

"Don't want him catching a cold and having excuses to put off getting the fertilizer spread tomorrow." Milt groused quietly. Frank nodded, picked up the remote and lowered the volume. Just because he was a 'bad cop' didn't mean they couldn't let the kid sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.

CHAPTER 6

Mark McCormick stood in the middle of the yard. Panic erupted from deep within, his heart racing, his breathing coming in heavy gasps. He couldn't stand there; Buddy had taught him never get caught alone in the middle of the yard. He had to move yet his feet were cemented to the ground. Several fellow inmates were slowly circling him, edging closer with each circuit. Don't let them see the fear, he thought, yet he knew his face and eyes were revealing his true feelings. A few of the inmates broke off their circling and were slowly approaching from all sides. He frantically looked for a friendly face, desperately willing his feet to move. Just as the inmates were reaching for him sirens from high atop the walls assaulted his ears. Blaring at first, they evolved into a single ringing bell. His knees buckled, he shrank into a ball with his arms thrown across his head. Then darkness enveloped him and he awoke to his alarm. He turned off the alarm and laid still. His eyes wide open, his heart pounding, he forced himself to slow his breathing. He threw off the sweat drenched sheets, swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his forehead on his hands, elbows perched on his knees. He was shaking.

Prison dreams. God, it had been months since he had one. They were almost as bad as the real thing. The dreams, in fact, grabbed on to his soul and stayed entrenched for a long time. McCormick found it harder to tamp them down into the unvisited parts of his memory than the memories themselves. Mark tried to clear his head and think of what had brought this on. Then it hit him. Yesterday had been an all-around bad day. It started with him having to drop Sarah at the airport and the prospect of ten days without her buffering between him and Judge Hardcastle. Determined to make the best of it he remained calm as Hardcase laid out a detailed list of errands for Mark as if he were a first grader. He even managed to keep his cool when the vehicle he had been allocated ran out of gas leaving him to hoof it back to the estate. But what disturbed Mark, and was the cause of the fears penetrating into his dreams, was the arrival of Lieutenant Frank Harper: longtime friend to Hardcastle and instant antagonist to the parolee that Hardcastle had taken in. Harper made it very clear to Mark that he did not trust him and would take great pleasure in returning Mark to prison at the slightest slip-up. Mark was surprised to learn Harper was an invited dinner guest, but he prepared the meal, endured its consumption and even managed to watch a movie with the older men. At some point in the evening he had dozed off. He awoke with a warm feeling of being cared for, someone had thrown a blanket over him, but remembering the conversation with the Lieutenant sent a chill down Mark's back. He quietly excused himself and retreated to his private gatehouse, happy to have made it through the evening without being hauled off in cuffs.

But today was a new day. Mark had set his alarm for early as he wanted to surprise the judge by being out on the basketball court before the old donkey arrived. He quickly dressed in sweats and waited under the hoop for Hardcastle to arrive for his morning routine. Mark didn't have to wait long and laughed when he saw the shocked look on Hardcastle's face.

"What's wrong with you, Kid?" Hardcastle asked suspiciously.

"Whaddaya mean?" Mark asked innocently.

Hardcastle frowned. "C'mon. You haven't gotten up on your own since you moved in. You sick or something?"

"Nope. Just ready to start the day. You wanna play or you wanna jabber?" Mark grabbed the ball from the judge and completed a perfect jump shot. Hardcastle smiled and thought back to the previous morning when McCormick had feigned sleepiness to bilk Hardcastle out of $40. The kid definitely had the gift of grift.

"Okay, Hotshot. First one to 20 gets $20?"

"Sure, Hardcase. You take it out."

Unlike the previous day McCormick was playing hard from the start. The judge got in a few elbows to Mark's midsection and Mark landed hard on the pavement after a vicious charge. But McCormick gave as well as he took and Hardcastle found himself on the receiving end of a hard bump and he too fell to the court. Mark completed the layup then grinned and held out a hand to help Hardcastle to his feet.

"Okay, that evens it up at 16." Hardcastle grinned back. But Mark's eyes look past him and instantly his smile was gone. Frank Harper was standing on the edge of the yard, hands stuffed in his pockets watching the game. McCormick felt a terror rising within himself. He didn't know how long Harper had been there but he knew it was long enough for him to have seen Mark putting the judge on the ground. He was pretty sure flattening out your PO would get your ticket pulled and Harper wore a sly smile. Hardcastle turned to see what Mark was staring at and casually waved at Frank.

"'Morning, Frank. I'll finish this off quick so we can get on to breakfast." Hardcastle grabbed the ball and took it to the back court. Mark weakly defended the next two charges, barely coming within two feet of the Judge who easily made two more baskets. Hardcastle frowned.

"Get cleaned up. I'll have breakfast ready in a half hour." Hardcastle gruffed. Mark's eyes drifted across the yard.

"Uh, I am not really hungry and I need to get going on spreading that fertilizer. I'll bring your $20 over later." Mark slid past Hardcastle and jogged towards the shed carefully avoiding any eye contact with Harper.

Hardcastle turned and walked back towards the house. As he passed Harper he turned and they walked side by side.

"Huh. First the kid is up early raring to go and now he turns down a meal. And he practically threw that game. Something's up."

Frank chuckled. "Let me take a stab, Milt. Did you tell McCormick I was spending the weekend?"

Hardcastle looked at his friend sharply.

"No, why should I? It's my house. It's not like I need his permission."

Frank noted the judge's defensiveness. "Maybe I make him nervous."

Hardcastle gave that some consideration. "Nah. Maybe he's coming down with something. I'll check on him later. C'mon, I'm hungry. I'll cook us up some eggs." Hardcastle headed into the kitchen but Frank did not miss the worried look and the glances in the direction of the rose garden.

After fertilizing the roses Mark found yardwork to do at the far edges of the estate well out of view of the main house. He knew Hardcase would be wondering when he did not turn up for lunch, but the thought of eating across from the condemnatory police lieutenant had his stomach tied in knots. He had assumed Harper would have left last night but now he wondered how long the Lieutenant was staying. Mark knew he'd have to turn up for a meal at some point. He'd work through until dinner and hope the coast would be clear by then. At least the old donkey wouldn't be on his case for loafing about. By mid-afternoon he saw the flaw in his plan and it was approaching fast with a scowl that indicated rage. McCormick thought he might have seen steam coming out of Hardcastle's ears.

"Whaddya doing, McCormick?" Hardcastle bellowed.

Mark straightened and leaned on his shovel. "Knitting you a saddle blanket. What's it look like I'm doing?"

"Looks to me like you're hiding out. What's with missing lunch?" Hardcastle's temper was flaring.

Mark sighed and returned to digging out the stump he'd been working on. "Wasn't hungry. Wanna get these chores done."

Hardcastle grabbed the shovel and pulled it from Mark's hands.

"Enough." Hardcastle said firmly. "Go get cleaned up. I'm fixing an early dinner. And I expect you to be there." Mark started to object but saw the look in the judge's eyes and immediately understood it was not negotiable. He gathered the tools and headed to the shed without another word.

Milt returned to his den shaking his head. "Dumb kid. Doesn't have the sense of a gnat." Frank was stretched out on the couch reading a book. He and Milt had spent the morning talking about cases and mutual friends. Frank enjoyed catching up with his old friend but Milt seemed distracted. When lunch came and went with no sign of his yardman, Milt became more agitated. They played cards but by mid-afternoon Milt threw down his cards, mumbled something about "checking on the butchering of his yard" and headed out.

"Hedges come out uneven?" Frank asked sarcastically.

Milt broke from his musing remembering Frank was there. "The kid eats more than any three people I know yet he skipped breakfast and lunch. Then I go out there and he looks like he's about done in. He has the whole back of the property cleared out. There was a week's worth of work there and he has it just about finished. I don't know what's eating him but I don't need him keeling over from exhaustion. I bet he didn't even drink any water. I'm telling ya, Frank, something's up with him."

Frank let the rant wind down. "I told you, it's me. I make him nervous."

"That's ridiculous, he doesn't even know you." Milt waved him off.

"Well," Frank drawled, feeling just a little guilty. "Maybe I was a little rough on him yesterday."

Milt looked at his friend in surprise.

"He was walking back when I drove up so I gave him a lift. Then when we got here and I saw he had keys to your house, well, I thought it would be a good time to have a little chat with him."

Milt was cringing. "I can imagine what you 'chatted' about."

Frank was starting to squirm. "Look, I just wanted him to know that he needed to toe the line. That it wasn't just you keeping an eye on him. It's not like I cuffed him and read him his rights."

"Geez Frank, did you have to do that? The kid's been doing good work. He smarts off but he does what he's told and he's been keeping his nose clean."

"Keeping his nose clean?" Frank was incensed. "Are you kidding me? What about that little stunt of having his ex-cell mate here? And breaking into the impound lot? Mike said that was a real pro job he did on the lock. C'mon, Milt, that kid is a breath away from having his ticket pulled, probably would have been pulled already if you weren't pulling strings. Are you forgetting about the GTA that you made disappear?"

Milt stared at Frank. He knew Frank would be hard on Mark. Heck, he didn't blame Frank, after all, it was Frank that got dragged across the country helping him apprehend JJ Beale. Frank had earned the right to be skeptical and even to take an active role with his project. Still, McCormick didn't deserve this level of wrath. It hadn't taken Milt long to understand that McCormick's smart mouth and flippant attitude was all a carefully erected façade that a soulful, kind and tender heart hid behind. He felt a pang of guilt for having exposed Mark to Frank without being there to buffer it. But that thought stopped him cold. Why did it matter? McCormick was not his friend, he was an employee, a parolee who should respect the police. Yet he couldn't help regretting that Frank had been on McCormick's case. Why were his instincts to protect the kid?

Frank saw the troubled look on Milt's face. He sighed. He just did not trust the man. He couldn't help but think McCormick was running some scam and avoiding him just reaffirmed Frank's position; if the kid had nothing to hide, he wouldn't be hiding. Still, Milt was not easily fooled. McCormick had been in Hardcastle's judicial stay for some time now and Milt seemed to see something in him. Frank trusted his own instincts yet he trusted his friend's too. Then there was Milt. He seemed more alive, more engaged than Frank had seen him in years. And this protective attitude towards McCormick, was there something more going on here? Frank sighed.

"Look Milt, maybe I was tough on him but I tell you what. I'll give him a chance. Is he going to the game with us on Sunday?"

Hardcastle nodded and looked out the window. "Yeah, I got three tickets."

"Okay, I'll make you a deal. I'll put my badge away and try to get to know him. Maybe I will see what you see. But if I see something else, you need to listen to me." Frank didn't add, "and end this arrangement…" though he knew Milt understood the implication.

"I think you are going to be surprised, Frank." Hardcastle smiled.

"Judge?" they heard the subject of their discussion calling from the kitchen then he appeared in the doorway. He was freshly showered.

"Sorry to interrupt. Did you want me to start dinner?" Mark asked timidly.

"Tell you what, Milt, Mark," Frank jumped up. "Let's grab burgers. My treat. How's that sound?"

Milt was grinning ear to ear. "Sounds great, Frank. But I'm warning you. The kid hasn't eaten all day, it will take at least a half dozen burgers to fill him up."

Frank groaned and gave Mark's shoulder a friendly slap as he walked to the door.

"Try to remember I'm on a cop's salary, Mark, maybe keep it down to four or five burgers?"

Mark grinned and relaxed just a little.

"Can I get a shake?"

"Sure, Kid." Frank watched the other two head for his car chatting away about the upcoming meal. Frank suddenly realized that things were not as Milt thought. Only it wasn't Mark running a scam on Milt, it was Milt's own feelings conning him. Frank needed to rethink his whole approach to this situation.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.

CHAPTER 7

The wrench slipped and his hand smashed into the carburetor. Instinctively he drew back and, in the process, smacked his head on the hood. "Dammit!" he yelled. Extracting his hand and the wrench he examined his knuckles. Blood was oozing out through the grease. He carefully flexed his hand. Painful but not broken. We took a semi-clean shop rag from his coveralls and wiped the blood off, wrapping his hand. He rubbed his head, a small lump was forming, then went back to working on the GMC.

Judge Hardcastle walked up the driveway to where he was working.

"There you are. I was looking for you. You skipping breakfast again?"

"I was hoping to get this fixed before breakfast but this truck has been neglected so long as soon as I fix one thing I find something else that needs my attention. You know, Judge, you have to take care of your vehicles if you want them to treat you right. She didn't run out gas, she gave up from exhaustion."

Hardcastle scowled. "You ran out of gas because you didn't do what I told you to do."

McCormick looked at the Judge with indignation. "I didn't do what you told me to do? What are you talking about? I did exactly what you told me, right down to the minute. The gas gauge showed half a tank but it was empty."

"I don't need a gas gauge to tell me how much gas is in my truck. I know how much there was and there was plenty to get you there and back. You just didn't follow directions."

"Listen you stubborn old donkey, are your ears not working? Maybe they are not working from hearing too much braying. I did _exactly_ what you told me and I ran out of gas. Then to add insult to injury I got to catch a ride from the Spanish inquisitor."

Hardcastle's voice was rising as he pointed a finger at McCormick. "I hear you just fine but you keep singing the same tune. You did NOT follow my directions. You know how I KNOW that? Because, Hotshot, if you had, you wouldn't have been hoofing it. And I thought you and Frank were getting along fine last night?"

McCormick took a step forward and threw his hands up. "What are you talking about? I went to the garden store, the post office, the locksmith and the bank, just like you instructed. Exactly what you told me to do. No side trip to Disneyland, did not pass Go, did not collect $200. And yeah, I suppose Frank was okay last night. He plays a pretty mean game of air hockey." McCormick relented.

"See? That is what I mean, you did NOT do what I told you. I knew it." Hardcastle harrumphed to put an exclamation on his statement.

"Huh? Have you been eating peanuts again? What do you think I did that wasn't on your agenda?"

"You said it. You went to the garden store, the post office, the locksmith and the bank. I TOLD you to go to the post office, the locksmith, the bank and _then_ the garden store. You did it in the wrong order. That's why you ran out of gas. If you'dve listened to me you woulda had plenty of gas to get home."

Mark stared at him with his mouth open. He felt his temper rising. Frank Harper had quietly joined them, amused at the exchange. Mark knew he should tone it down but didn't care.

"Are you kidding me? You are telling me it is MY fault? You gave me a truck with a broken fuel gauge knowing full well it was on empty, sent me all over town, and now you say if I had done things in a different order I wouldn't have run out of gas?"

"Now you got it. Look, I told you to go the garden center last. That way you wouldn't be driving all over town, as you put it, with all that extra weight. Especially heading up the PCH. You would have had plenty of gas if you'd done it my way. When you gonna learn, Kid, I'm only looking out for your best interest? Besides, you're the big-time race car driver, didn't they ever teach you about fuel economy when you were driving around in circles?"

Mark couldn't believe his ears. How could the old coot actually blame him? There was nothing he was going to say or do to change the donkey's mind. And if he thought about it, the old coot was right, the extra weight did eat up more fuel and he had almost made it back to the estate. He just shook his head noting the growing headache and turned his attention back to the truck.

"Well the gas gauge is working now. I cleaned out the fuel lines and the carb. It's not good for these old relics to run down to empty. Next time we're downtown pick up a filter and some plugs and I'll give her a full tune-up. Here's what I need." He handed the judge a piece of paper.

Hardcastle took the paper and noticed a fresh blood drop on it. "Hey, you bleeding?"

"Oh, sorry, yeah it's nothing." McCormick pulled the rag tighter around his hand as he collected his tools and turned to put them away.

"Let me see that. I'll decide if it's nothing." Hardcastle reached for the hand but Mark turned quickly to avoid his reach.

"I'm fine, Hardcase, leave me alone."

"Dammit McCormick, let me see that hand, NOW!" Mark stopped in his tracks and held his hand out. Hardcastle carefully unwrapped the shop rag revealing two scraped knuckles and a gash that ran from the top of the middle knuckle to the middle of his hand. Frank leaned in for a look and winced.

"Ouch. That's gonna need stitches."

Hardcastle nodded in agreement.

"C'mon Kid, get into the kitchen let's get it cleaned up and I'll trot you down to the ER."

Mark pulled his hand back and cradled it in his other hand. "I don't need stitches, its fine. I'll go wash it up myself and slap a bandage on it."

Frank shook his head. "I don't think so, Mark, Milt's right. That needs stitches."

"Well too bad, 'cause I am not going to the hospital. You can't make me," he said stubbornly. Milt and Frank looked at each other than both looked hard at Mark. Mark cringed. "Okay, I guess you _can_ make me, but I'm still not going. I hate hospitals. I'm not going."

Milt sighed. "Okay, Kid. Get into the kitchen and wash it up. Then we'll see if we can get by with a couple butterflies, okay?" Mark nodded then quickly slipped out of his coveralls. He looked a little shaky as he walked towards the kitchen and Frank noticed Milt kept a hand resting lightly on the young man's back.

The clean-up was followed by an inspection by all parties and the vote was 2 to 1 in favor of stitches. They piled into Frank's sedan and headed to the ER. Mark got a lesson in the benefits of having a well-known and apparently well-liked police lieutenant as a friend since they were quickly taken to an exam room. When the doctor came in he looked at the two men hovering over his patient. "Uh, can I help you gentlemen?" He asked.

Frank put on his best professional look. "I am Lieutenant Frank Harper," he held out his hand for the doctor to shake. "This is Judge Milton Hardcastle. He," he pointed at Mark, "is with us." The doctor nodded his understanding and Mark rolled his eyes.

"Do you have to make it sound like I'm under arrest? Look doc, they can stay, but not 'cause they have to."

"McCormick stop your jabbering and let the man do his job," Hardcastle admonished. The doctor took it all in, wondering why Sunday's always brought in the odd cases.

As the doctor began his exam, Frank stepped back and watched the interplay. The doctor asked Mark questions, which Mark answered but not without frequent glances at Milt. Frank was surprised to see Mark seeking approval. Hardcastle hovered over the procedure standing very close to Mark's shoulder. He queried the doctor about aftercare and repeatedly asked Mark if he was in pain. Like a wrecking ball smashing into a fortress it hit Frank: this was not a parolee and his keeper. Frank braced himself and reviewed all that he had witnessed the past few days. Yep, no doubt about it, Milt was in deep. He was witnessing a fledgling father-son relationship.

"You okay, there, Frank?" Hardcastle broke him out of his bemusement.

"Ah, yeah, fine," Frank responded. The doctor was packing up supplies, the nurse was wrapping the wound and Hardcastle's hand rested lightly on Mark's shoulder. Frank realized his mouth must have been gaping. He closed it and quietly reviewed his plan to protect Milt from Mark and knew immediately he needed to do a 180. He needed to promote and nurture this unusual relationship.

A pizza lunch was followed by a raucous argument over whether or not Mark would take his medication. An accord was reached when Mark agreed to take the antibiotic, but not the pain pill, and he agreed to spend the rest of the day and night in the main house where Hardcastle could keep an eye on him. Mark rolled his eyes but obediently trudged over to the gatehouse to gather a few things, returning promptly 15 minutes later. Mark's face looked strained. The doctor had said the wound was not serious but the 14 stitches and the bruised knuckles would cause considerable discomfort for a few days. Hardcastle was already plotting to work the pain medication into the deal.

"Knock it off, Hardcase. I told you, I hate taking that kinda stuff. Makes me dopey."

"Who's going know? You're already dopey," Hardcastle quipped. Mark glared at him.

"Yeah, well what does that make you if you hang out with me all the time?" Mark asked.

"Alright, ENOUGH!" Frank said, standing between the two men. "You guys could wear down the patience of a saint. Milt, I know you're worried about Mark's hand…" Frank put up a hand to head off Mark's protest. "…but, he's a grown man. He's taken his antibiotic, if he doesn't want to take the pain med, that's his choice." Mark looked smug. "And as for you," Frank turned towards Mark who quickly wiped the smirk off his face. "You call him a donkey well who is being stubborn now? You know you're hurting so why don't you take the damn pill?" Frank waved off another protest. "Yeah, yeah, it makes you dopey. How 'bout this? You take a couple aspirin now just to take the edge off, and you take a pain pill before bed to at least help you sleep. Okay?" Frank looked from one to the other, both men wore sheepish looks. "Now, can we have some peace and quiet?" Both men nodded. "Good. How about we play some cards?"

Hardcastle clapped his hands together and smiled. "Great idea, Frank. Poker's no good with three of us but how about cribbage?" Frank nodded. Mark shrugged.

"You'll have to teach me how to play."

"Not sure anyone can teach you anything, McCormick." Frank rolled his eyes.

Three hours later Frank watched Mark peg out and exuberantly declare, "Hey, I won again? This is a great game, thanks for teaching me." Hardcastle picked up the paper and did some calculations. "Looks like you're buying dinner, Kid. With what Frank and I owe you, you'll still come out ahead."

"Nah," Mark waved him off as he gathered the cards with one hand. "It was just beginners luck. Consider it payment for the lessons."

Frank eyed him thoughtfully. "You couldn't have been a very good bookie on the inside with an attitude like that." Mark stopped cold. He glanced at Hardcastle and managed a weak grin.

"Bookie? Who said I was a bookie?" Frank raised his eyebrows at the kid's meek tone.

"Don't worry, Mark, I don't work bunko and I doubt even they would be interested in your action." Mark sighed as the two older men laughed. Frank gave Mark a playful shove. Mark visibly relaxed.

"Well, a guy's gotta do something to pass the time." Hardcastle looked up from his calculations. McCormick never talked about his time in prison. "But I don't do any of that now." Mark added quickly.

Frank chuckled. "Uh huh. Totally reformed, I am sure. What's the line on the Laker's tonight?"

"Against the Jazz?" Mark asked in mock shock. "Well, after that blowout on Friday I bet they don't even play Kareem or Magic. Probably'll start McAdoo and Scott. But, if you want to take a flier I'll give you the Jazz plus five."

"Plus five? You're on. Double or nothing on your cribbage winnings?" Frank asked smugly. Mark turned to Hardcastle.

"You want in on this, Judge?" Hardcastle looked from one face to the other in disbelief.

"Frank, I am trying to teach the kid to stay out of trouble and here you are encouraging gambling."

"But Milt, he's offering five points. I can't pass that up."

Hardcastle shook his head. "Five points? Really?"

Mark thought for a moment as if doing some deep calculations.

"Yep, five points. Oh, but then you have to buy dinner. I can't buy dinner and layoff that kinda bet."

"You're on!" Hardcastle clapped his hands and smirked.

Kareem and Magic started the game and the next morning at breakfast, both men grumbled and handed over the winnings to a falsely contrite McCormick.

"I'll see you guys later." Frank mumbled as he headed for the back door.

"Oh, you leaving already, Frank?" Mark asked. "We were just starting to have fun."

Frank turned and looked at Mark, then Milt. "Don't think I can afford any more fun." Frank noted the disappointment on Mark's face. How could a San Quentin hardened ex-con look so innocent and youthful?

"Look, Claudia will be going to her sister's in a couple months. Guess I can come back out and spend another weekend."

Mark's face lit up and the smile went all the way to his eyes.

"Maybe Hardcase can get us tickets to another game. I'll give you a chance to win your money back."

Frank shook his head and with a dismissive wave, exited the house. He could hear Hardcastle beginning a lecture on the evils of gambling and McCormick's interrupting that it wasn't gambling when you did the math. Yep, whether he was reforming an ex-con or raising a teenager, Frank was glad his friend was thriving under the challenge.


End file.
